Post-poetry-reading rituals (AWP Prep Pt. 2)

When people talk about writing rituals, they usually mean the behaviors that get them primed for focused composition. For me, that’s a pot of tea and a laptop in a quiet corner, with email notifications turned off. If I still can’t get my head together, reading helps. Or I write informally or in another genre to get my thoughts straight.

Many writers also have pre-performance rituals. I contemplate a playlist in advance, mark poems with sticky notes, practice with a timer, dress in something bright, and pee about five times. I’m always a little nervous or wired, but that’s okay. I like giving readings. I’m no trained performer, but I’ve spent a zillion hours teaching and reading to children. Voiced poetry, and conversation about it, are two of my favorite things.

What I’ve never figured out is what to do with myself AFTER a reading. I know poets are supposed to knock down some pills with booze and call it a day, and while I’m perfectly happy to wind down with a beer and friends, especially people who tell me how great I was, I could use some alternatives. That wired feeling invariably lasts for hours, meaning I’m basically awake all night with or without self-medication. Occasional insomnia is no big deal, but I’m doing more readings than usual over the next couple of months, and I’d rather not deal with the brain fog and immune-system crashes that tend to follow sleep deprivation.

A doctor who recently reviewed my genetic tests–apparently I have a mutation that makes me particularly bad at metabolizing adrenaline, so it hangs around in my body–suggested headstands would be good for my adrenals. To the contrary, I think headstands would result in adrenaline-fueled ER trips. Despite years of yoga I’m not really a balanced person in any way, but especially not in the stand-on-your-head sense. And while I’m trying short post-reading walks to burn off energy, I’m not really excited about hitting the hotel gym in the middle of the night. I could just give up on sleep and read something absorbing until tiredness blinds me, I guess. Or a hot bath? A friend tells me her old therapist had a shake-it-off ritual after each session, but google that and you get advice about post-workout protein shakes. If you have an alternative suggestion for me–ceremonial dance? soporific incantation?–please let me know.

In the meantime, I had a wonderful time last week at the VA Festival of the Book, post-event sleeplessness notwithstanding. And I’m attending AWP this week, which is a crazily intense few days in any case, but this is my first conference as a member of the Board of Trustees and Mid-Atlantic Council Chair. That means I’m doing a few normal poet-things I committed to long ago PLUS board work, all of which I’m excited about, but my schedule for each day is LONG. Most will begin with breakfast meetings, are packed with events I want and/or need to attend, and end with 10 pm receptions. Sleep and scraps of down-time are going to be crucial.

It will also be sustaining to see friends. I’d be grateful for kind words in the hallways, so please say hello if you’re there, even if you don’t have sachets of Magick Dactylic Recovery Tea to smuggle into my tote bag. Here’s where I’ll be:

SATURDAY: Here’s when I hope for more of a breather–to see some alumni and other friends and spend more time in the always-amazing bookfair. But my last AWP event before the 3:30 am Sunday morning shuttle to LAX is:

Notethat this last event is Free entry and free bar (BYOB/donations/tips encouraged). If you like to chase down your huge literary conference with some poetry and libations, I’m thinking this is the place to be. I’m hoping to read early in the list and then clink classes with you afterwards, because, what the heck, I won’t be sleeping much anyway.

2 thoughts on “Post-poetry-reading rituals (AWP Prep Pt. 2)”

A post-reading ritual, for me, is to write in my journal any thoughts or impressions I took from the reading. Sometimes I have a nice rye as a writing companion. Like you, I am wired, and untangling my wires is tricky. Another ritual is to read a story of Joyce Carol Oates. Why? I have no idea, but it does seem to help.